Maybe it was the excitement, maybe the anticipation, but at 5:30 this morning we were both wide awake. Beating the heat wasn't such a bad idea, and as surfers were heading down to catch some waves we packed up camp and set off. Within seconds of getting on my bike I remembered I needed more air in my tyres and caffeine in my veins so we entered the nearest high street chain we could sell our souls to.
As we came to Del Mar a while later we realised that the traffic lights were in our favour, due to an all women's 10km run on the other side of the road - Tim was in multiple heaven. Through Torrey Pines State Reserve we mounted a 1 mile peak. At most it was a nuisance we could have done without in the heat.
Finally we came off SR21 and through pretty La Jolla with it's boutiques and beaches. As we finished a pit stop a couple of ladies asked what we were up to. It later transpired that her son worked for Arup at which point we promptly left in fear that our reputations may have preceded us to the coast.
Towards the end of La Jolla, we dusted a couple of guys going up hill on their sparkling road bikes. I wanted to whoop and holler but in respect of their sorry once a week cycling selves I resisted. My inner delight was probably deafening enough.
Off Mission Blvd in Pacific Beach we missed a turning to the beach, and instead carried along the road. Obviously having forgotten the sick inducing bends of the previous day, nor accounted for cycling along Mission Beach on a Sunday, we decided cut down onto the ocean front bike path, only to cut back to the road moments later, before I was issued with a citation whilst attempting to teach slow people not to amble in the middle of the bike lanes. Honestly, the sooner California implements pedestrian lanes the happier a place it will be.
We cut up around Mission Bay, across San Diego River and onto Nimitz Blvd which cut Point Loma and Ocean beach in two. At this point the roads became busier as we cycled past the U.S. Naval Reservation towards San Diego Airport. After a brief loss in direction, we came to downtown San Diego where we had missed the ferry over to Coronado by 5 minutes.
We were unsure about staying in Imperial Beach for the night, and so with almost an hour until the next ferry we popped into the visitors centre where in a moment of shear decisiveness Tim booked us a hotel near Balboa Park.
As we placed our bikes in the racks on the ferry we met a fellow cyclist called Maurice who we spoke to as we crossed the Bay. The more we cycle, the more guys we seem to come across that are pedaling well into the later years of life - it feels far more inspiring than what we are doing.
Coronado is an affluent spit of land across from downtown San Diego, where we found ourselves yet again on a bike path through manicured golf lawns leading us onto bike path along Silver Strand Blvd. With our goal less than 15 miles away we were disheartened to realise the view to either side of us was shrouded in fog, and we had a head wind.
The path turned inland along the Otay River, bringing us into Imperial Beach where it became eerily quiet. Stopping at a liquor store to buy beer and Hershey’s chocolate, we realised that our language was in the minority. As we ate more chocolate, a couple of guys strutted past – socks up to their knees, pants below their fannies (in the American sense) and caps over their eyes. Needless to say we got pedaling.
In South San Diego we skirted the U.S. Naval Air Station along Hollister Street, which was lined with ranch upon ranch. Crossing the Tijuana River we turned onto Monument Road where to our left we could see Mexico and a road disappearing into nowhere.
As we entered the Border Field State Park, border patrol lined the road. Signs told us not to stop, to which we duly adhered. As we took a left hand turn views of Mexico and the Bullring-by-the-Sea drew up in the distance, with endless fencing dividing us.
At the end of the road, a short sharp climb took us into a car park. On one side was blaring music, and lines of people stood along the wire fence – almost like the images of prisoners on television. As we looked out over the ocean, the Mexican side of the beach was heaving full of people in contrast to the two or three that littered the U.S. side. Through the fence a woman and her son fed an older guy - it was quite a cultural change.
Tim, by this stage, was getting bored of me choreographing his photos and we began to muse over our reaction to having completed our voyage. The reality that there was no more coastline to cycle was upsetting, so much so that the finish line was almost (dare I say it) an anti-climax.
Having drunk our fat tire in silent jubilation, we got back on our bikes and returned to downtown S.D. As we were leaving the park, we came across 3 guys out for a jog in jeans and shirts. They seemed to be having a lot of fun, laughing and shouting as they went. Alongside were a couple of ATVs – funny I thought, I hadn’t realised they were allowed in State Parks. My delirium at having reached the border and poked a finger through the fence to Mexico, was obviously robbing me of any logic. Above us was a circling helicopter, trucks were all around and the ATV riders were in full body armour. ‘What was that all about?’ I asked Tim as he sunk his head into his hands laughing uncontrollably. With that comment I drew on a par with Tim leaving a roundabout to turn around having missed his exit.
Eventually back on the Silver Strand bike path, Tim was pedaling like a mad man. Drawing near to Coronado again I realised he was attempting to get us to the ferry, but again we missed it by a few minutes. As we slumped down on a bench over looking the Bay, we listened to a brass band which instantly soothed Tim to sleep. Stuck as the uncomfortable pillow I marveled at America’s love of extremes – for every big car there seems to be an equally small dog.
Back in downtown SD we took a painfully slow journey to our hotel, stopping at just about every traffic light along the way. Shattered, and again having missed lunch we showered and went to Hob Nob Hill Restaurant which the guy on the front desk ensured us was nearby and good. With some perverse logic (signifying that all the places we had been along the way truly had been amazing and finishing the trip really was going to be a sad reality) I found myself thinking how fitting it was that the diner was neither close nor good. In fact it was disgusting, and god help the locals who had apparently been served by it since 1944. Tired, we crawled into bed at 7:30 to watch Law and Order with a bottle of cheap Asti – we seemed to have mastered the American extreme – after all we had just completed the 3 flags tour so who were we to comment.
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